


The Endless Time of Never Coming Back

by rosa_himmelblau



Category: Highlander: The Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-03
Updated: 2019-07-03
Packaged: 2020-06-03 13:08:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19464646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosa_himmelblau/pseuds/rosa_himmelblau
Summary: It's a complicated, troubled relationship Duncan and Methos have.





	The Endless Time of Never Coming Back

**Author's Note:**

  * For [killabeez](https://archiveofourown.org/users/killabeez/gifts).



Duncan lay in bed in his dark, dark bedroom listening to the shower running in the dark, dark bathroom. Methos took his shower in the dark, and only turned on the light after he was completely cleansed of all (real and imaginary) traces of their lovemaking.

Lovemaking. If Duncan hadn't been wallowing in his usual soporific post-coital feelings of anger and despair, he might have laughed at that word. It hardly fit the desperate fumblings they indulged in in the Methos-insisted-on darkness of his bedroom, but Duncan didn't know what else to call it. They weren't fucking; half the time they weren't even completely undressed, or Methos wasn't, anyway. Methos wanted to get off, without thinking about what he was doing or who he was doing it with, and his shame was so immense he had to pretend he was drunk, he would only kiss Duncan if he needed to shut him up.

And they always did it in the dark.

The shower stopped. The light came on; Duncan could see the small strip of it that escaped at the bottom of the closed door. He heard Methos brushing his teeth, spitting into the sink again and again. "You'd think I had cooties," Duncan said into the darkness. "You'd think I was radioactive, you'd think—"

He shut up. The door had opened, the light had been turned off. Methos made his way through the darkened room with the assured grace of a cat, finding his clothes—well, his shoes and pants, he'd kept everything else on—and putting them on. Methos didn't speak. Duncan didn't speak.

In a moment he was gone.

And Duncan couldn't help it. He began to cry.

**

Sunlight struck Duncan in the face, forcing him to a wakefulness he didn't want. Waking meant thinking. Thinking meant thinking of Methos.

He'd fallen asleep in the bar again, sitting on the same stool he'd sat drinking on, his head cradled in his arms. And for whatever reason, Joe hadn't waked him up and sent him home, and now here he was at the crack of dawn, with a hangover that would have been lethal if he'd been mortal.

Only it wasn't the crack of dawn; it was time for the bar to open, and the sunlight that had so rudely awakened Duncan was coming through the front door. Methos was the one who had opened that door.

Didn't that just figure?

He hadn't seen Methos in nearly a week. Apparently their last encounter between the sheets—or rather, on top of the bedspread—had scratched his itch pretty thoroughly.

How had he gotten into this joke of a relationship? By day, casual friends, by night—

By night it was like back in the old days, when so often sex between men meant sex between strangers, furtive and lonely, no words exchanged, no love—

That wasn't quite the case here though, because Methos **had** told Duncan he loved him, once upon a time. Now, however, he was looking at Duncan with great amusement.

"You look like shit," Methos said, rather kindly, pissing off Duncan—not with his words, but with his kindness.

"Hey, he's got good reason to look like shit," Joe's voice came from the other side of the bar. Duncan turned to look at him. "He drank half my stock and spent the night right where you see him. I'd've rousted him out, but I was too curious."

"Curious?" Methos asked, and Duncan was glad because he hadn't wanted to ask himself. "Curious about what?"

"Whether he'd fall off the stool when he fell asleep." Joe shook his head. "But he just slept there all night."

Duncan ignored them both and tried to get off his stool. But he'd been sitting there so long, his legs didn't want to work and they gave out on him, sending him crashing to the floor. Joe, on the other side of the room, started to laugh. Methos, right there next to him, just stood looking at him. Of course he hadn't reached out a hand to catch him, of course he didn't offer to help him up—that would have violated his no-touching-in-public policy, and that was inviolate. It was hard to believe that Methos had ever said those words to him, and Duncan was sure it had only happened that night because Methos had been really drunk—the only time he had been. Methos loved him. Duncan had believe that, but now all he could think was that Methos was ashamed of loving another man.

Up on his feet at last, Duncan glared at Methos. "I don't believe this," he said, keeping his voice low, trying to keep his temper in check. "I don't believe—how is it possible?"

Methos was staring at him, and without looking at him, Duncan knew that Joe was, too. Duncan didn't care. It was long past time he spoke up. "You're ashamed of loving me, aren't you?"

Methos shook his head. "Duncan," he tried to interrupt, but Duncan wouldn't let him.

"You're ashamed of **having sex with** a man! How is that possible?"

"Duncan," Methos tried again, and Joe's voice echoed him, but neither of them stopped Duncan.

"You've been alive practically forever, you've been alive since **before** Judeo-Christian morality demonized homosexuality—how has modern-day homophobia gotten its claws in you?"

"I am not a homophobe!" Methos shouted, but that didn't silence Duncan.

"You've been involved in orgies, you've raped and pillaged, you've—"

"I know what I've done—I was there—!"

"You fucked a **goat,** for God's sake!" The were bitter in Duncan's mouth.

"Shut up," Methos hissed coldly. "Shut up. I should never have told you about that."

"You weren't ashamed of **that,** but you're ashamed of **me** —"

"I'm not ashamed!" Methos shouted. "This isn't about shame, it's about—about—"

"Duncan," Joe sounded as disappointed as Duncan had ever heard him. "Duncan."

"About what? What's it about?" Duncan demanded.

Methos covered his eyes, turning away from him. Joe came over, and Methos leaned against him. "What's the matter with you?" Joe snapped. "Can't you see how upset he is?"

Methos wasn't crying, but it was obvious he wasn't far from it. Duncan didn't understand what was happening. "What's the matter with **me**? He thinks being with me is less acceptable than screwing a goat! What does he have to be upset about—screwing a goat?" 

"Don't you understand?" Methos pleaded, his eyes finally meeting Duncan's. "It isn't the goat, it—it was the barbecue afterward.

Duncan blinked. "What?"

"That's when I learned, don't lose your heart, don't fall in love. It's better that way."

**Author's Note:**

> A disappointing gift for killabeez.


End file.
